


Enemies close

by TheFierceBeast



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Bedroom Banter, Bottom Crowley, Castiel is smitten, Crowley Being Crowley, Crowley talks dirty, Dirty Talk, Established Relationship, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Grace Kink, Grace-Powered Orgasms, M/M, PWP, Praise Kink, Top Castiel, Topping from the Bottom, Weapons Kink, crowstiel, look at their fucking love connection, overdue appreciation of Crowley's bangin' physique, riddled with cliches
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-04
Updated: 2016-04-04
Packaged: 2018-05-31 06:52:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,620
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6460171
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheFierceBeast/pseuds/TheFierceBeast
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Headcanon: Crowley is a really bossy demanding bottom. Crowley has a creative and filthy mouth. Crowley will not shut up in bed. Crowley is the greatest lay you ever had.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Enemies close

"My, my, what a beauty. You _are_ a big boy." He drinks him in, eyes half lidded and hungry, "The little angel that could."

"What do you want, Crowley?" It's a straightforward question, but even when Castiel is kneeling over him, naked and hard for the King of Hell, that surly growl makes it sound like the angel Castiel is being severely inconvenienced rather than seduced.

Crowley wriggles and bats his eyelashes, struggling for show where the angel has him pinned by his wrists to the bed. "I want you to service me with that whopper, good and proper." He licks his lips, voice dropping lower. "Show me what you can do, stud: I don't want to sit down for a week." Grinning at that frown, he grinds his hips up and watches Cas's lips part, unconsciously.

The angel's voice is honey-rough. "Crowley, you know that my vessel's genitals are perfectly average for its ethnicity and build."

Crowley ignores him, squirming: his dirty talk is always useless. "Take what you need, handsome. Use me up." He catches a hitching breath, carried away on his own spiel. "Oh, don't give me the kitten eyes; I know you're more than capable. Use your imagination. Stuff me full like the filthy crossroads tart I am."

"I will chew you up and spit you out." Is it his patience wearing thin, or his restraint?

"A gentleman would swallow."

"Stop talking."

That gruff, no nonsense voice: it sends thrills straight to Crowley's happy place. He narrows his eyes, " _Make me_ ," and quicker than blinking, there is a blade against his throat. Crowley hisses with pleasure and arches, triumphant, against it, revelling in the bite of divinely-forged metal against soft, borrowed flesh. "A kiss would be more Continental, petal."

"This is how we do it in Hell."

That's it. The winning line. Crowley's eyes flare red in honest, helpless arousal, the breathless tone to his voice finally sincere. "Oh lover, you say the sweetest things."

"Do you need me to gag you?"

"Yes _please_."

A tiny amused smile creeps onto Cas's face at that. The hard rasp of his voice softens, only just. "What do you want, Crowley?"

Crowley swallows, thick with anticipation. "Make me yours" he says.

 

They always keep their weapons close in bed. Not because they don't trust one another, but as a gesture to show they do. One wrong move could mean annihilation, here in between stuttered breaths and clutching hands, in between Heaven and Hell where they're both vulnerable enough to be almost, almost human... Castiel hates it and loves it. Heaven corrupted and Hell redeemed: everything in between. The demon in his bed. Hates to admit he's not quite human enough to be able to share this physical indulgence with any other creature. Their fragile trust is unwise, and miraculous. The King of Hell is maddening, and endearing. The threat of violence implicit in that compact vessel, dangerous as an undetonated bomb: Castiel holds his breath as he holds him down, the skin he’s in thrilling at every touch. Beneath him, Crowley spreads his legs, wanton and wanting and Castiel swallows, throat tight, tongue-tied. This vessel fascinates him almost as much as the creature inhabiting it. An earthly fascination, with soft flesh and hard muscle, the man’s features delicate enough to be almost pretty, yet absolutely masculine. Imperious as he yields, yearning.

Castiel slides - hard, slick, promising - between Crowley's spread thighs and Crowley drags in a breath, broad chest heaving. He laughs softly, jerks his wrists from Castiel's grasp, rolling over onto his belly with practiced grace. Pushes out the tempting swell of his arse, lifting his hips from the bed. "I trust you don't object to me on my knees?" Voice like smoke. Castiel has no words to reply. Rakes fingers down the smooth expanse of his back, cups his arse, spreads him. Drinks in the appreciative groan as he eases inside, gentle as he can muster. "Cas..." A lust-doused whisper.

Castiel holds his breath. Says, "I like you like this."

"Tell me."

His head reels. "It feels... sinful."

Castiel feels the delicious clench as he laughs. "From your lips, that means a lot." Every word he utters is underpinned with knowing amusement, like he's too aware of who's really in control here, and it drives Castiel crazy.

"Tell me" Crowley repeats, longing clear in the words.

"What do you want to hear?"

His whisper is hesitant. "Tell me I'm good."

"You are... exceptionally good at this," Castiel states, honestly.

"Mmm..." Speared on his cock, Crowley rolls his hips. Not begging. Not yet. "Angel, say it."

"Crowley..."

"Yesssss..."

Castiel's skin crawls - diffidence, even as the pleasure takes him in thrills like pulses of electricity. So hot, tight, illicit. His lips don't want to form the words, but Crowley glances back, morbidly coquettish, over his shoulder, expectation and desire and... _longing_. A twisted kind of fondness spikes in Castiel's chest. He smooths a palm down the soft curve of Crowley's ribs; Crowley bends into the touch. "So good."

A long exhale, like a sigh of relief. Almost a whimper. "Cas..."

Twining an arm around his middle, Castiel folds over him, skin pressed to skin. "Good boy."

Crowley moans, loud, raw. Pushes up on his arms, leaning back until he's kneeling, sitting in Castiel's lap, so Castiel has to wrap both arms about his chest to steady them as Crowley rides himself back onto him, hard and demanding, muscles bunching powerful in his thick thighs. Crowley's arms come up too, snake backwards around the angel's neck, pulling him into a kiss, neck craned, contorted, desperate grace. His tongue is hungry and wet, licking sweet murmured praise from Castiel's open mouth. His cock jerks, thick and dripping, rigid enough to rest flush against the curve of his belly as he fucks himself onto Castiel's prick. "As hard as you can, angel." That, hopeful. Castiel shakes his head. Locks one hand around the back of his neck. Pushes him down, all-fours on the bed again, back bowing, dissolute captivating creature. Leaning forward Castiel covers him, slow thrust, deep, grinding. Holding him in place. Crowley groans. His arms, keeping him up, start to tremble, until he pitches forward onto his elbows, forehead pressed to the covers like supplication, Castiel's grip firm at the back of his neck. His breath is coming too fast, dragging gasps like drowning. His voice is at once a warning and a plea: " _Harder_." Castiel smiles. His hips roll, pressed complete and aching. His hands hold the demon still. Crowley's teeth squeak, grinding, his deep voice a ragged gasp, torn by tenderness. " _Harder_." Gritted out. "I need it."

"What do you need, demon?"

"Damn you," Crowley barks, "Stop tickling! _Hurt me!_ "

The fingers at his nape tighten, bruising, but Castiel knows it's not enough for him. His hard length rubs all the right places inside, gentle, tormenting, unravelling the strands of him, teasing him loose. It's evidently, obviously, not nearly enough. Crowley's eyes smoulder, wet scarlet. He arches his back, breathless tumble of words, clipped by his frustration: he seems uncaring now if it's too close to begging. "Do it, angel, move, _I need it_ , harder, _hurt me_ , I want you, _harder_ , nail me, _more_ , give it, _faster_ , _now, please_ \- _oh_ ," his breath hitches as Castiel's hips roll; Crowley is quick on the uptake. " _Please_ , yes, _please_ oh my g- _good,_ oh _Cas, yes, yessss_..."  
  
Hips shunting, withdrawing to the tip and slamming back in, quick, hard, relentless as a machine. Fingertips dig sharp into the ample meat of the King of Hell's hips and Crowley drives back, panting. Tight as a fist, soft and silky-slick inside. The rougher he is, the more Crowley purrs. Snap of hips. Wet slap and gentle ripple of flesh, captivating as the hitch in Crowley's breath as he claws at the sheets, loud and incoherent in his praise.  
  
"Close your eyes." He won't. He never does. It's hard to balance, plunging, one hand stroking Crowley's dick, the other pressed firmly across his eyes. The wash of light is searing, white and blinding as climax, a cyclone rip of air that cocoons them, sending sheets flying up in ribbons, immolating. Crowley's vocal contribution is condensed to short brutal grunts of pleasure as he's filled, brimming with light that spills from his wide open mouth. His cock spurts, pulsing in Castiel's hand. That hand, shaking now. Eyelids fluttering. The light fades. Castiel feels spent in more ways than one, addictively warm inside, uncoiled tension that leaves his knees weak; he withdraws and flops down onto the ruined bed with a shudder.  
  
Crowley offers an arm and Castiel is only too happy to accept, tucking in, face pressed to his neck.  
"That was delightful, love." Smug drawl. Infuriating as ever. Castiel shifts, lips brushing Crowley's collarbone. Wrapped up together, heavy, sated, legs entwined. Crowley's fingers circle in the hair behind his ear. Lazy-gentle. The soothing rise and fall of the broad chest Castiel's head is pillowed on is so human he can almost close his eyes and imagine a real heartbeat, can almost allow himself to drift. "Thank you." Crowley's voice is low.

"Why?"

He feels the chuckle, vibrating through the demons chest, earthquake aftershocks. "To err is human, but it feels divine."

Castiel cranes his neck, looking up into the face too close to his to focus properly. Crowley peers down at him, fingers still drifting through his hair. Golden eyes, alight with alien emotion. Castiel tilts his chin up and the demon leans to press lips to his lips, a kiss too dear for this transaction of flesh. And Castiel feels something like a light expanding inside his chest, just where his heart would be.  


**Author's Note:**

> (Idek it started as pwp - 'they keep their weapons close in bed' - it's not at all what I initially wanted to write, but I kinda like it anyway, even if they always end up going mushy on me. Still need to write some proper weapon-play.)


End file.
